"Those who are poor in spirit and means are easily manipulated and all wayward beings can easily be led astray. This would seem to the corporate philosophy of the Melkork Mines.

"There are many prison camps throughout the Republic, where those miscreants and unfortunate political prisoners can pay their debt to society through hard labor. These places are inescapable and anything less than a life sentence is seldom seen.

"And then there are places like Melkork. Like the prison camps, they are inescapable and the workers' 'service' there is a life sentence. The difference is that these people have done nothing wrong except trust opportunity in their time of dire need.

"They are lured into this trap by the promise of secure employment, by the hope of a home for their family. They find instead that the cost of living makes survival impossible without severe debts. They work hard, they scrimp and save, but they will never see anything left over because anything they work for is swallowed by their debt to their benefactors.

"So, there is a polite term that is common to anyone who has worked at Melkork. 'Fosterage.' Theoretically, it is another system of benefactors, a family that will provide for the children that the parents cannot raise on their meager salaries. At Humanitarian Services, the Welfare Department is a strong advocate for foster care, but this polite term of fosterage is a cover for the same slavery that the parents are subjected to.

"Anything can happen to parent and child alike. There have been reactor meltdowns, mine explosions, and several dangerous earthquakes, but the most common death sentence comes for those who have to seek out the spice, risking themselves against ryll spiders so they will have something to eat that night or won't be beaten yet. Their lives are as miserable as they are short and those who survive are the least fortunate because there is no hope and no escape.

"There have been rumors of this sort of practice for years, but it wasn't until proof started escaping that we were given permission to do anything about it. We want this place raided, reformed, whatever it takes, but we know how easily our workers can get beguiled. We trust the Force does not do that to its servants, which is why we have asked the Jedi to be sent.

"We trust that the Force and whatever strength justice possesses will be with you so some of these wayward beings can come home."

~Humanitarian Services briefing
*****
The life of a spice prospector was not a pleasant experience.

Keme could not remember a life beyond the mines, did not even know if she had ever had a home elsewhere. She had vague memories of her father's thick accent, remembered grumblings in a native tongue that she couldn't identify, but her entire world was darkness.

By normal standards, she did not know what childhood was. Childhood to her was nothing but another day to be dreaded and a night filled with futile dreams.

She could no longer remember the last time she saw daylight or fell asleep without
a biting hunger in the pit of her belly. It had been even longer since she laughed or allowed herself to cry.

She didn't remember how old she was, since she had no way of tracking the days. She could mark her growth by the fact that she could now touch the ceiling of the spice tunnels without standing on tiptoe. She knew the passing of the seasons by the amount of equipment adaptors brought in for the winter months, but it was a rare thing to actually feel the blast of northeastern winds or a waft of warm air from the late spring. She rarely could even remember the time when she had become familiar with these sensations.

But the rarest occurrence of all was being allowed to speak.

In the spice mines, any displays of humanity were punished. Keme remembered too well
the sting of a force-whip on her narrow shoulders or the crack of a fist against her delicate jaw. She had too much experience with the business end of brutality to forget her position.

Sorry for the confusion if there is any, but Ophelia sent me a huge tome of new information that she never really discussed before and I spent a few hours hashing out what goes where and who ends up how with her and felt that a rewrite was a better idea than screwing up continuity because she's so great.

Prologue was awesome... really left me with a headvy feeling and that's good considering the content and reading of Keme's life was quite depressing, certainly after finding out she's on made it to seven.

It was Qui-Gon Jinn's first mission as a Knight and from the stories he'd heard about such things, anything from assassination attempts to nuclear warfare was possible. Being assigned to the team 'inspecting' Melkork was no help to his nerves.

But nevertheless, he endeavored to keep himself in check with the power of the Force. Though danger was no unfamiliar thing, he was even more accustomed to severe chastisement from Master Dooku if he let his personal foibles get in the way of success. He had schooled himself, therefore, in the ways of meditation, had gotten so used to the need for immediate calm that he could reach into his mind and find it within a matter of heartbeats.

Melkork, however, robbed him of that skill.

Obviously the administrators were both opulent and corpulent, having glutted themselves on the successes of injustice as many had before them. The facility was painstakingly pristine, the administrative compound more like a resort than an institution of slavery, and the people were forcedly polite to them, but something lurked beneath the surface that he could not quite identify and that he could not ignore. Seeking the Force, he received a distinct impression.

"I must go," he hissed to the ranking team leader, Knight Windu. "There's an impression I must investigate."

"We'll make your excuses," Mace assured him, "if they notice your absence at all. Just don't get yourself killed or it will be very bad for our public relations image."

Qui-Gon nodded curtly. "Understood."

That much agreed upon, he removed his outer robe to tuck it into Mace's satchel. A moment later, he'd pulled his lightsaber up to rest along the wide belt, then pulled his tunic out slightly to conceal its presence. His hand ran a few times over the short bristle of hair, tousling it so he didn't look so orderly.

I can't be noticed and I can't trust Alter Mind. I have to leave the Jedi behind for the time being.

Mace nodded, but did not spare a look at him, only began to move forward in the group, calling out a question to their guide about worker's compensation as Qui-Gon slipped into a side corridor.

All right, he sent to whatever consciousness the Force had, you've been screaming at me to get moving and I'm moving. Now can you tell me where?

There was no map that flashed into his mind, no words to accompany him, but there was a distinct impression and he found himself steered, as though his brain contained a rudder that the Force could use to guide him.

He did not know how long he wandered, but he arrived at a set of doors. There were no guards, so that any passing gaze might not mark it as different from the others, but from the sense of it, he had every right to be concerned with the security systems.

This could be more complicated than I thought.

There was a touchpad entry system at the door, a series of numbers required to gain entry. And each person had a different entry code.

His mind reached out and he found several remnants of personalities--a cranky supervisor, a sycophant, a dancing girl...

A Hutt.

These were Hutt quarters, so if that entry code were used, the security would know not to interfere. All surveillance would stop, since the Hutt would bring his own protection and want none of his dealings caught in holo.

Perfect.

A quick scan of the area assured him that no one was coming, so he sauntered forward and entered the code that the Force had impressed upon his mind.

The door slid open without even a clearance beep.

This would have been the perfect place to investigate the entire network, so he sent the equivalent of Force coordinates to Mace, but he pressed on through the opulent quarters, the 'throne room' where the Hutt received his visitors, and finally came to an unmarked door set into the wall behind a virtually unused bookshelf.

The creche masters often made Jedi children play "Hot and Cold" to attune themselves to the Force, to rely on it to discover the hidden, and th

Oh yes very little time on the board. But I'm really a fan of star wars stories. So it makes sense Ihopin here since it just started. Soe of them have 200+ pages. No way could I read all that. lol. Since this one had one page it seemed good to start with.

Ahh, Knight Windu has accompanied Knight Jinn... col!! Just don't get yourself killed or it will be very bad for our public relations image." -- Sounds like Mace! LOL! Ohh, I like the idea of playing 'Hot and Cold' with the Force. Padawan, his mind suggested and he smiled at the thought, brushed it from his mind. --Ha, I smiled at the thought too.

I just "found" this (hey, I never said I was fast on the uptake) and love it! I haven't caught up yet but I can't wait to do so. Wonderful, wonderful story. I think I am going to into a Qui-Gon phase soon so I'll be haunting these boards and reading about the man with the big hands. Love it!

Healer_Leona--yeah, i've never written Mace before and did it as a challenge to myself, since he's one of my favorite characters now. Ohh, I like the idea of playing 'Hot and Cold' with the Force. I always wonder if you can abuse the Force to win games...

VaderLVR64--Slow on the uptake, who cares? Glad you came to visit, anyway.